


Stitches

by JoeMerl



Series: March of the Monsters 2021 [5]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canon Compliant, Confused Dib (Invader Zim), Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dib-centric (Invader Zim), Frenemies Dib & Zim (Invader Zim), Gen, Good Parent Professor Membrane, Good Sibling Gaz (Invader Zim), Implied ZADF, March of the Monsters 2021, Stitches, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeMerl/pseuds/JoeMerl
Summary: Dib is hurt during a fight with Zim.
Relationships: Dib & Gaz (Invader Zim), Dib & Professor Membrane, Dib & Zim (Invader Zim)
Series: March of the Monsters 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189316
Kudos: 13





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> March of the Monsters, Day 9:
> 
>  ~~Sea folk.~~ Stitches. ~~Potion.~~
> 
> Zim counts as a monster, right? You know what, I'm the only one participating in this event, so I get to make the rules.

In retrospect, something like this was bound to happen eventually.

Dib was having yet another battle with his mortal enemy, Zim. He had infiltrated the alien's base and managed to get a hold of the Important Thingy. Dib wasn't sure what it was, but it was apparently necessary for whatever Zim's newest plan was. Zim could have easily distracted Dib by providing some more detail, but he was saving his speech for when the Thingy was back in his claws.

Dib held the device over his head, dancing around Zim's lab as the alien tried to snatch it back. He had activated his PAK-legs, using two to hold himself up as the upper ones slashed at his opponent. Dib's eyes were wide—dodging was all that he could do with his hands occupied, but now he was up against the wall, with Zim looming right in front of him.

"GIVE IT TO ME!"

"NO _AAAGGGHHH!_ "

Zim's spider-leg came at the same moment Dib threw the Important Thingy over Zim's head, in the process accidentally leaning into the blow. He fell to his knees as Zim drew back his blade and spun around.

" _NOOOOO!_ "

The Important Thingy smashed into the floor at GIR's feet, knocking over the tower of playing cards that he had been building. Both of them fell to pieces.

" _AW!_ Now I gotta start over."

Zim let out a growl of rage as he leapt over. In one fluid move he landed, the metal legs drawing back into his PAK, and sifted through the device's pieces. One of the most important parts was _smashed._ He would have to order a replacement from Callnowia, which would cost more monies than he could afford to spend. He threw back his head and screamed.

"CURSE YOU, DIB-STINK! For that, I will—eh?"

He turned. Dib was still over by the wall, leaning on it, half-sitting and half-lying as he pressed a hand to his chest. There was a large gap in his shirt, and...a lot of blood. Zim stood up and blinked in confusion, as though he couldn't quite understand where it had come from.

"Are you okay?"

Dib made a sort of gurgling sound. He was breathing very hard. And he felt cold. He was pretty sure that that was a bad thing.

There was a _lot_ of blood. His orange shirt was soaked through with it. How deep had Zim's attack gone?

"Help—me..."

Even as he said it he knew how ridiculous it sounded, but rational thought was becoming harder to do. He felt like he was falling into coldness, and his field of vision was shrinking rapidly.

Then he blacked out.

* * *

Dib woke up screaming.

 _Agony._ He felt like he was being stabbed all over in his already mutilated chest. There was a whirring sound all around him, assaulting his torso and ears.

A deep, sarcastic voice said " ** _See, I_ told _you he needed anesthesia,_** " though Dib's mind couldn't process that through the sound of his own screaming.

He fell back into darkness.

* * *

For a long time Dib felt like he was drifting in and out of half-consciousness. Finally his eyelids forced themselves apart. All he saw above him was a blurry ceiling. It took him a minute to realize that it belonged to his father's basement lab.

His body _ached._ The surface beneath him was hard and cold. He groaned, tried to sit up and fell back, tears of pain coming to his eyes.

"Ah, son. Take it easy now."

"Dad?" He forced his eyes open again; his father loomed over him, looking hazy. On instinct Dib reached out as if to grab his glasses from his bedside table.

"My...arm?" It felt clumsy and awkward, and moving it send a stab of pain through his chest.

"Hold on," Professor Membrane said, guiding his hand back to his side. "Let me help."

Dib felt a slight prick in his arm, then let out a "YAH!" He suddenly felt wide awake, which only augmented how much pain he was in. "What was that?!"

"Just a shot of adrenaline," his father said cheerfully. "I have you under a regional anesthesia, though, so you might have a little trouble moving. There you go..."

Professor Membrane eased Dib into a sitting position. A second later Dib found a pair of glasses on his face, so he blinked down and looked at his own body.

He quickly regretted that decision.

There was a big, red gash right across his bare torso. It ran diagonally from right to left, starting near his collarbone and traveling down toward his hip. It was closed now, but Dib remembered the horror he had felt seeing it open and bleeding. He closed his eyes, then looked up, meeting his father's goggles.

"What happened?"

"Well, from what I understand, you hurt yourself playing at your foreign friend's house."

Dib closed his eyes again, trying to process that thought. "He's not— _ugh._ How'd I get home?"

"His little brothers helped you walk."

"Little brothers?"

"Mm-hmm." His father casually felt Dib's pulse, then began to check his blood pressure. "Your sister says that you fainted just after they left. Apparently their mother is a doctor? I can't understand why she let you walk home, but I must say, she did a _very_ good job stitching you up. The threads are so minute you can barely see them!"

Dib looked down at his chest again, wincing as he placed a hand to his wound. The wound looked terrible, but it was true—he had to squint to see the tiny lines holding his skin together.

"You lost a lot of blood, though. Fortunately I keep a ready supply for just such an emergency!"

He patted a machine next to the table. It had large canisters of blood at the top, one of which was noticeably lower than the others. A dial was set down to a picture of Dib's head, right above one of Gaz and below Professor Membrane himself. Beneath those were pictures of a pig, a moose and a hobo.

"I was really hurt, wasn't I?" Without thinking Dib started to scratch his wound, but the professor tutted loudly and pushed his hand away.

"You must try to leave that alone, son, no matter how much it itches. And no baths or showers until further noticed!" He paused. "It's a good thing I got to you in time. I was worried, you know."

Dib hunched his shoulders. He felt embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

"I want you to be more careful playing in the future. I know young boys like to roughhouse, but—"

"We weren't _playing,_ Dad." Dib closed his eyes again, feeling too tired to put much force into his argument. "Zim was trying to destroy the world again."

The professor shook his head and kept working. He had Dib raise his arms, then wrapped his chest up in a thick coat of bandages, all while murmuring instructions and restrictions that Dib would have to follow. Dib knew he was in good hands—his dad probably had better knowledge and equipment than any of the local hospitals.

Eventually Professor Membrane helped him off of the table, patted him on the back and said that he would check the wound in the morning. Dib nodded and headed upstairs, hissing with pain on every step.

He found Gaz in the living room, sitting halfway up the stairs. Her Game Slave was sitting beside her, off for some reason. She looked up as he came into the room.

"You're alive."

"Apparently." He grimaced, holding his chest and resisting the urge to start scratching again. "What really happened?"

"I dunno. Zim's robots carried you home. The stupid one just yelled 'here's your pizza' and threw you at me. Oh, and he spit up this."

She picked up Dib's trench coat, wadded up into a ball, and threw it down to him. Dib caught it and groaned, half from the strain that that movement caused him and half because the coat was covered in drool.

"Why does a robot have _spit,_ anyway?" He shook his head. "If Dad didn't stitch me up, who did? _You?_ "

She scoffed. "I don't know how to do that. Remember what happened the last time I tried to sew?"

Dib shuddered. _The Cosplay Incident._ "But then...who...?"

Gaz stood up without answering, picking up her video game and turning around. She paused, looking over her shoulder at him.

"You looked really bad when you got here. Be more careful next time."

Dib blinked as she turned and stormed off toward her room. He hesitated, then began his own slow trek up the stairs.

He reached his bedroom and threw the disgusting trench coat into his hamper. He thought about putting on a T-shirt, but just the thought of pulling it over his head made his chest scream in protest. Instead he pulled another trench coat from his closet, slipping it on and buttoning it up. Then he eased himself onto his bed, spreading his arms out and staring up at the ceiling.

He scratched at the front of his coat, thinking.

"If Dad didn't do it, and Gaz didn't do it...and I was already stitched up before Zim's robots dropped me off..."

It made no sense, though. Why would Zim help him? Especially since _he_ was the one who cut him up in the first place?

Dib puzzled on that for a moment. Then he wondered: if the situation had been reversed, would _Dib_ have saved _Zim?_

 _No,_ he decided in less than a second. Zim dying would save the planet, _and_ be Dib's ticket to the life of his dreams. Dib would have gladly hauled his corpse out of that base and sent it off to the Swollen Eyeballs.

At least, that was the answer he _would_ have given before now. But if Zim had really saved him...could he say the same thing going forward?

Dib didn't like this train of thought. He tried to ignore it, along with the aching and itchiness of his torso.

He sighed, took off his glasses and put them on the nightstand. That shot of adrenaline seemed to have worn off. He was dead tired, but it was still a long time before he drifted off into a troubled sleep.


End file.
